


straight into my heart and stole it

by Love_Me_Dead



Series: straight into my heart and stole it [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Harry and Marcel are the same person, Little bit of angst, M/M, Minor Bullying, Not too much, Uhm, it stings, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Me_Dead/pseuds/Love_Me_Dead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Niall dare Louis to ask the dorky secretary out. Louis falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	straight into my heart and stole it

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off a post I found on Tumblr not too long ago that I can no longer find. anyway, it's Louis/Marcel(Harry) and yeah. I really hope you like it and a massive thank you to my beta who can be found at viclin on Tumblr. 
> 
> Enjoy

Louis honestly thinks it’s juvenile, the way his friends all make fun of Marcel. Very reminiscent of the high school days when Louis would watch them tripping the smaller kids. But they’re way past that now, they’re adults and they’ve gone through university and now they’re at the jobs they’re gunna have forever, for God’s sake. And yet Niall and Zayn both pick on the dorky secretary who yeah, looks ridiculous. 

But despite Louis thinking he looks ridiculous and acts like a bit of a freak, he doesn’t voice his opinion because that’s really childish and he just turned twenty-five in December. He laughs along at some of the things Niall and Zayn say when they’re all eating together because those two have some very colourful insults and he loves them to death.

And Louis knows that Marcel has a crush on him. It’s the worst thing for him because Zayn and Niall torment him to no end about it and whenever he has to interact with Marcel, he’s always a little aware of the way he blushes deep red and the way his eyes linger when he thinks Louis isn’t looking. Louis thinks it’s kind of cute, like the little nerdy kid crushing on the most popular kid in school if he’s still making high school analogies. 

It’s one particular lunch, the three of them sitting in the lunchroom and Louis is eating soup as usual. Niall is talking about his brother’s wedding and Zayn is nodding along, listening. Louis eats another mouthful of lukewarm broccoli and cheese soup (which Zayn laughed about earlier but Louis loves it and took the recipe for it straight from his high school’s cafeteria). Their conversation is interrupted by a clattering next to them as Marcel drops his fork. Their heads turn, watching him turn bright red as he stoops over to pick it up and ends up tipping over and struggling to get back up.

Mostly people avert their gaze, too embarrassed for him to say much. But Niall and Zayn laugh, turn to Louis and begin their favourite pastime of making fun of the nerdy secretary. Louis chuckles a little, continuing to eat his cheesy broccoli soup. When he glances over at Marcel, he sees him watching with this smile on his face.

“Lou, look, he’s looking at you,” Niall says, leaning over conspiratorially.

“He looks so smitten,” Zayn chortles.

“You know what’d be hilarious?” Niall asks them, leaning back and watching over them with a grin on his face. “If Louis asked him on a date.”

“No, no way, Niall,” Louis says, shaking his head and finishing off the last bite of cheesy goodness. He’s smiling a little because that would be hilarious, he has to admit.

“I agree,” Zayn says. “That would be the best thing that’s happened all year.”

“No,” Louis says again. “He may be gullible but not that gullible.”

(Niall once invited Marcel to an office party that was supposed to be in celebration of Niall’s birthday. He lied; his birthday is on the other side of the year. And he planned this whole elaborate scheme and he pretended to make calls to cake companies and he’d talk about it in the lunch room and he went all the way. And then the venue that Niall booked was actually some three year old’s birthday party. Marcel couldn’t even look at Niall for a week.)

“Oh, come on, Louis. Just one fake date and it’ll be funny.”

Louis shakes his head, sipping his water. 

“I dare you,” Niall whispers, leaning over again and looking at him.

Louis sighs, finally nodding as he realizes his friends will bother him for days if he doesn’t give in. “Fine,” he says.

Niall and Zayn both cheer, celebrating their little victory.

 

It takes Louis a week to ask Marcel out. He starts small, going out of his way to head up to his desk and ask for an extra paper clip of pack of staples. Every time he does, Marcel smiles widely, showing off two little dimples. And Louis finds himself getting nervous about asking Marcel out, worried that he might just break down and cry or do something else just as embarrassing and attention-drawing.

But he does it. He’s about to clock out of work on a Thursday and he knows that everyone has tomorrow off and so he heads up to the secretary’s desk. Marcel has just gotten off the phone and is typing something into the computer, his face all screwed up in concentration. He reaches up with one long finger, pushing up his bulky glasses higher on his nose.

“Hey,” Louis says, wishing he had some cute nickname to call him so he could get a leg-up on him.

Marcel looks up, a small smile immediately setting onto his features. “Staples or paperclips?” He asks.

“Neither,” Louis says, putting an easy grin on his face. “A date with you.”

His face completely drops, smile disappearing and Louis is genuinely worried he’ll cry now. “What?”

“Tomorrow night?” 

“W-wait… a date with you?”

Louis laughs a little. “Yes, a date with me. Tomorrow evening.”

“S-… I… B-…” Marcel stammers out, watching Louis with the most shocked little face and really, it’s kind of endearing. “Yes. That would… that would be wonderful, thank you.”

“Rosso’s at seven?” He asks, smiling. 

“Okay.”

“See you then, love.”

And Louis leaves Marcel with his mouth hanging open in a little ‘O’, gaze following Louis as he walks away. 

 

The next night at six is when Louis does get nervous. He wonders if Marcel will even be there or if he’ll be stood up by the geekiest secretary in all existence. Then he’d be the laughing stock between Zayn and Niall for at least a week before Marcel did something dumb like jam up the photocopier again. 

Louis doesn’t dress up too much, opting for a casual grey button-down rolled up to his elbows and some black pants that cling gently to the curve of his legs. He spends a minute or two longer on his hair than he might for work and heads to the restaurant, texting Niall all the way there and generally being a worried mess. 

When he gets there, he’s escorted to his table which is some tucked-away thing that he definitely did not ask for but he guesses that it’s nicer than being displayed to the world as going on a (very fake) date with Marcel Styles. He hopes that his coworker doesn’t get the wrong idea tonight and doesn’t think that he’ll be getting some because the most Louis is willing to do is peck him politely at the end of the night.

He’s there for a good five minutes, a ball of foot-tapping anxiety until Marcel shows up, escorted by the hostess. He’s dressed similarly to Louis, a button up and normal pants. Gone are the ugly-patterned sweater-vests and the tie that’s tied horribly and the terribly coloured pants. Despite the bulky glasses and amount of product in his hair that’s sticking it to his scalp and shimmering, he looks all right. 

Louis smiles up at him, watching him sit and taking a sip of water. “Five minutes late,” he teases.

“Y-yeah, I don’t really… go on many dates,” Marcel says, looking down at the table and busying his hands with the menu. 

Louis chuckles a little, not pressing on the subject as he glances at the menu as well. He knows what he’s gunna get – what he always gets – but you know, Marcel is doing it. When enough time has passed that he feels as though he could’ve come to a decision, he puts the menu down and looks at his fake-date.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Louis prompts, actually a little interested in hearing about him.

“U-uhm.. Marcel isn’t my real name,” he tries, voice going up at the end like he’s asking a question. He looks at Louis, scanning his face for validation of a good fact.

Louis is caught off guard, finding that his mocking undertone to the date is ebbing away. “Really? Then what is? And why do you go by Marcel?”

“Marcel’s my middle name… Well, one of them. And my real name is Harry.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis whispers, mostly to himself. It rolls off his tongue much easier than Marcel Styles. “Why do you go by Marcel?”

He looks down at the table, fingers playing idly with a tear in the lamination of the menu. “I just prefer it, you know?”

Louis nods. “I like Harry,” he says, grinning a little. “Can I call you that?”

“Of course. Just not at work.”

Louis nods again and when the waiter comes up, the both of them order. They then turn back to each other and Harry’s gaze drops back down to the table.

“So, tell me about _yourself_ ,” he says, grinning shyly and glancing up at Louis.

“Well, I’m a Christmas miracle,” Louis says proudly. Upon Harry’s questioning, he delves into the story about how his mum got so worried about him shortly before he was born because he didn’t kick at all and she was worried that he had died. She had an ultrasound scheduled for Christmas eve, squeezed in for the emergency that it was. And he tells him how she put herself to bed that night, nearly crying with worry that her little baby might not even be alive anymore. But she woke up at ten to two with these horrible contractions and she timed them and woke his dad and they went to the hospital, both of them literally crying because they were so worried. And then Louis was delivered on Christmas eve, healthy and best of all, alive.

Harry smiles through all of it, shyness still lingering in the way he’s picking at a loose thread on the edge of his shirt.

Their food arrives and they chat through eating and Louis is surprised to find that he really doesn’t mind this at all. In fact, he quite enjoys it and he really likes the way that Harry will look up, trying to make eye contact before looking back down, the tips of his prominent ears turning red. He likes the way he plays with his shirt and how he stutters on the occasional word. And he likes his shy smile from across the table.

And he really wouldn’t mind kissing him at all.

Their dinner ends and they head to the front of the restaurant and Louis is pretty sure that Harry drove here so he’s pretty sure that they’ll be parting ways now. He kind of doesn’t want to and he kind of wants to stay with Harry and learn more strange facts about him and maybe see him without so much gel in his hair.

“Did you drive?” Louis asks, turning to face him.

Harry shakes his head. “I took a cab,” he says, bringing his phone out to presumably order another.

“None of that,” Louis says softly, touching his wrist. “I’ll give you a lift.”

“Thank you very much,” Harry smiles genuinely, eyes fluttering to look down. 

Louis leads him back to the car, worming his way between the other cars. He laughs when Harry catches his hip against one of the car’s mirrors and tries desperately to adjust it back to normal. Louis rolls his eyes, grabbing his hand and leading him the rest of the way, kind of liking how big Harry’s hand was clutched to his own.

They pile in the car and Louis begins driving, Harry telling him his address. They talk over the quiet radio, conversation light and not really too deep into either of themselves. When Louis pulls up at a small flat, he extracts his phone from the tight confines of his pocket and taps to the ‘add a contact’ page, handing it to Harry.

“Can I have your number?” He asks, bringing his lip to rest between his teeth.

Harry positively beams at that. “Yeah, of course,” he says, taking his phone and typing in his number before handing it back. “Can I’ve yours?”

He waits as Harry brings out his phone and then adds his number, making sure to leave a small heart beside his name. “I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday,” Louis says, voice soft. He knows he should kiss him now, should make it seem like he just had a very non-fake date that didn’t sort of begin to feel like a real date about halfway through it.

“Y-yeah,” Harry whispers, watching him. Tension is thick between them.

Louis glances down at his lips and how pink and puffy they are, how there’s the tiniest bit of food on the corner of them and that does it. He leans forward, and with no forced affection, he kisses Harry. And Harry’s immediate reaction is to freeze up, tense against him but nonetheless kiss back. It’s slow and it’s soft and Louis wasn’t expecting to kiss him like this at all and he really wasn’t expecting to like it.

When they pull away, Louis can hear his heart thrumming in his ears and he lets out a shaky, small breath. “Uh, have a good night,” he whispers, sitting back in his seat. He’s surprised at the nervousness in his own voice and how he really doesn’t want to let Harry leave.

“You t-too,” Harry stutters. “Tha-thank you for tonight. It was wonderful…”

Louis grins over at him. “Bye, Harry,” he says softly.

Harry clambers out of the car, gawky and long legs nearly making him trip. Louis smiles, forcing himself not to blush as he drives home.

 

Zayn and Niall kill themselves laughing when Louis recounts the date. Not wanting to seem to have too much of a soft spot for Harry – or Marcel to them – he tells them an edited version of their date. He tells them how Marcel showed up wearing pants that were much too high and rode halfway up his shin when he sat. He tells them about Marcel being nervous and spilling his drink all over the floor and then dripping his dinner all down his shirt.

But he doesn’t want to tell them this even though he loves seeing them laugh. He wants to tell them about how Harry showed up in a dorky outfit that looked great on him. He wants to tell them about how he was so brave for actually doing it and if Louis were him, he wouldn’t have shown up. He wants to tell them about kissing Harry at the end of the night and the exact feeling of their lips moving together. He wants to tell them about how he kind of wants to go out with Harry again.

Zayn and Niall beg him to begin this elaborate ruse to ultimately publicly embarrass Marcel and the only reason Louis agrees is so that he doesn’t have to make any future dates private until he’s ready to tell his friends about it.

Their dates are really quite spectacular and Louis finds himself enjoying Harry’s company more than anything. He sits with him at lunch sometimes, smiling fondly at him from over the table. He takes Zayn and Niall’s praise of how good his acting is and congratulate him when they see how smitten Harry is.

Louis learns quite a bit about Harry over their relationship. He learns that he has an older sister who lives in Manchester and he learns that Harry has this big mop of curly hair when it’s not all slicked back. He says that he likes to look professional for work and that’s why he gels his hair every day and spends so much on the gel.

It’s one Sunday morning that Louis finds out his favourite thing about Harry. They’ve been ‘dating’ (Louis doesn’t like the quotation marks very much but no one really knows about them) for a week and a half and they went out drinking last night. Harry didn’t drink too much but Louis got rather drunk and Harry insisted he stay the night. Tipsy and cuddly, Louis agreed and he spent the night in a pair of borrowed pajama pants, curled into Harry’s side under the pretense that he’d be lonely.

Louis wakes up to find the other side of the bed empty. He sits up, a headache sitting around his temples and he looks in the mirror and groans. His hair has fallen flat and it’s back to its regular shiny state where it falls over his brow in a way he absolutely hates. He rubs his eyes and stands before padding downstairs, the leg of his pajama pants pooling around his ankles and the morning air cold against his bare chest.

He’s about to call out to Harry, ask him for some Advil, when he hears a low voice singing. Louis freezes. Does Harry have some extremely talented roommate he failed to mention that likes to sing like a freaking god on Sunday mornings? He tiptoes until he’s in the doorway of the kitchen, poking his head around the jamb.

Harry is standing at the stove, cracking an egg into a frying pan as he sings unabashedly. Louis watches him, awestruck by his voice and by the fact that he, too, is shirtless. 

Louis had always taken Harry to be thin and scrawny under all those layers of button ups and sweater vests and bad pants. But he’s not, not in the slightest. He’s not incredibly buff but he has a toned chest and a defined V-line and oh God, he has tattoos. Louis had never seen him in anything but a long sleeve since they met for the very first time and he’s always been curious as to why. But now he knows.

There’s a butterfly splashed across his stomach, two swallows on his collarbone, a full ship on his upper left arm and assorted other tattoos. There are so many of them and Louis curses his drunk self for not noticing them last night and taking his opportunity to press tiny little kisses to them. 

Harry pauses singing and turns to see Louis, grinning widely at him. His curls are falling in his face, untamed and wild. “Good morning, love,” he says.

Louis’s heart skips a beat. A month ago, he’d never have imagined himself to be standing in the dorky secretary’s kitchen, the both of them wearing nothing but pajama pants, listening to him sing and admiring the tattoos that were inked into his skin.

“Morning,” Louis whispers back, looking up at his eyes.

“There’s some tea in the kettle on the table and there’s also some water. I left the Advil for you, too.”

“Thank you.”

Louis traipses over to him, pressing a kiss to his lips before taking a seat at the table. The table is all set up and there’s a bottle of Advil sitting in the middle of it, surrounded by a pitcher of perspiring water and a kettle covered by the cutest tea cozy Louis has ever seen. A small pot of sugar is on the table as well as a little container of milk. There’s a teacup and a glass sitting there in wait and Louis can’t help but smile at how meticulous this is, how adorable it is.

“You sing?” Louis asks, pouring himself some tea and glancing over at Harry.

He nods, watching the eggs sizzle. “Yeah.”

“You’re really good.”

Harry grins widely, flushing. “Thank you.”

Louis smiles, taking an Advil with a sip of tea before pouring himself a cup of water. 

Harry serves breakfast a few minutes later. It turns out to be perfectly salted fried eggs sitting atop a piece of toast and Louis couldn’t be happier as he eats, completely forgetting about his headache.

And when Louis is leaving an hour later, redressed in his clothes from last night, he nearly says it. He can feel the words bubbling up his trachea like some form of verbal heartburn and he forces them back down. Instead, he kisses Harry for a long time on the doorstep, trying to get his lips to convey the message his voice won’t.

 

Louis keeps it going for another week before breaking up with Harry. He’s spoken to Niall and Zayn about it, saying that he can’t keep doing that to Marcel and that the poor thing seems to be really smitten with him. He just can’t risk hurting him even more when the truth is shown anyway and they agree that the joke has run its course and Louis has every right to break up with him now.

He comes over to Harry’s and he sits one couch cushion away from him, ignoring the little look of hurt when he does that. Harry pours them both a glass of red wine which makes it easier for Louis to do it.

“Harry,” Louis starts after a few minutes, swirling the wine in his glass and studying it the way his mum might. “I think we should break up.”

He can see Harry tense beside him and he wants more than anything to crawl into his side, brush his fingers through his curls and kiss his lips and tell him it’ll be okay.

“Why?” Harry asks, voice already shaking. 

“When I… When I first asked you out, it was on a dare,” Louis whispers. “And that sounds horrible but yeah, I’m kind of a really shitty person.”

“What?” He asks, voice echoing his hurt.

“Niall and Zayn.. They dared me to ask you out on a date because they knew you had a crush on me and thought it’d be funny to see your reaction. And I agreed only to shut them up. And then we went on that date and I didn’t even really expect you to show up but you did and you looked absolutely fantastic and… and then I kissed you and I think that’s when the whole joke part of it went to shit.

“It was a stupid dare but I ended up really, really liking you. But it’s not fair for you to be with someone who treats you so horribly and then turns around and begins to like you. I’m… I’m so sorry, Harry..”

Harry is still and silent beside him, something Louis recognizes as a lethal combination.

“Thank you for the wine,” Louis whispers, finishing his glass before setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. “And thank you for the kisses and the hugs and the times you’ve been a wonderful host to me. Thank you for all of this. I never found any of it comedic.”

Harry doesn’t look up, he doesn’t make any noise. His chest is moving rapidly, face downturned.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Louis whispers, standing and showing himself out.

 

Harry doesn’t show up to work on Monday. On Tuesday, he’s there but his chipper attitude and bright smile are gone. He doesn’t look at Louis, makes absolutely no note of his existence and continues on his regular pattern except without the looking at Louis and smiling. 

Even Niall and Zayn notice and they turn down the verbal harassment by a few watts, casting worried looks in his direction every now and then and then looking back at Louis, who pretends not to notice. They find other topics to talk about, avoiding at all costs the topic of Marcel, even though Louis is willing to force himself to laugh at it all. He doesn’t tell Niall and Zayn about their break up and they ask only once and he shrugs. They notice that something’s wrong too.

This icy détente persisted for two weeks. Louis got used to it and slowly slipped back into his normal life, sans Marcel and sans Harry. He ignores the hole in his heart, promising himself over spoonfuls of ice cream that he’d find someone else and he’d forget all about how hurt Harry looked every day at work.

It isn’t until a rainy Friday when Louis is staying in and feeding his recent addiction to some strange but good TV show that there’s a knock on his door. It’s absolutely pouring outside, rain slamming against his window at random intervals and Louis really hopes that it isn’t Niall or Zayn piss drunk and soaking wet because he’s dealt with that before and it was not the highlight of his twenty-second birthday. He stands up, pausing his PVR recording and heading for the door.

He pulls it open and Harry is standing there, absolutely drenched. His shoulders are hunched, his clothes dripping and all the gel has melted out of his hair and is hanging in clumps around his face. His glasses lenses are ninety percent water, ten percent glass. He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked.

“I love you,” Harry mumbles, taking a deep breath. Louis can’t help but wonder if some of the moisture on his face is rain or tears.

Louis pulls him in by the hand, shutting out the storm and watching him begin to shiver on the front mat, dripping onto it. “I love you too,” he whispers, leaning up on his tiptoes and kissing him softly.

Harry sniffs a little, face beginning to contort when Louis pulls away. Louis presses kisses to his cheeks, taking his hands and pulling him towards the bathroom. He hardly cares about getting the carpet wet because his boy is here and his boy is crying and his boy is cold. Louis pulls him into the bathroom, beginning to run the shower.

“Warm up, love,” he whispers, looking up at him as he turns adjusts the heat. 

Harry nods, arms wrapped around himself and still looking incredibly hurt. 

Louis leans up, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the counter beside the sink. He begins at the buttons of his shirt, listening to the little sniffs. He presses kisses on his neck, the only spot his lips can meet without sitting up on his toes. He peels his wet shirt off, kissing the swallows on his chest and feeling Harry’s hands cup the back of his head.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Louis whispers. “Warm up, okay?”

Harry nods, pulling away from Louis and beginning to peel his pants away. Louis slips out of the bathroom, heading into his bedroom and trying to find the too-big clothes he keeps around for whenever he gets lonely. He finds the sweats and the big sweater he recognizes as Niall’s. 

He heads back into the bathroom, finding a towel and laying the things down on the counter. He hops up onto the other side, perching on it and gnawing on his lip. 

“Could you sing for me?” Louis asks, feet swinging a little. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and he wonders why he’s asking Harry to do anything for him after what he did to him.

Harry doesn’t even hesitate, beginning to sing some ballad. His voice is wrought with emotion and Louis begins to tear up. He wipes at his eyes as Harry’s voice rings through the small bathroom. When he stops singing and the bathroom is full of steam, Louis doesn’t even worry about seeing Harry naked for the first time because his vision is too blurred from his tears. Harry quickly dries off, though, and dresses in the clothes that Louis left out for him. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, looking up at Louis once he’s pulled on the sweatpants.

Louis nods, wiping at his eyes and trying really hard not to cry anymore because he shouldn’t be crying. He doesn’t deserve to cry right now and it should be Harry screaming at him and it shouldn’t be going like this and he doesn’t deserve this.

Harry walks in between his legs, hands resting on the counter. Louis notes that his fingers are sliding against each other, unable to twiddle together like they normally would. 

“Why are you crying?” He asks, voice soft and concerned.

Louis shakes his head, tilting his head back up and kissing him hard. His skin is warm when he wraps his arms around his neck and his hair is dripping onto his arms. When he pulls away, he looks at him right in the eyes and is shocked to find that Harry looks into his as well.

“I love you,” Louis whispers, unable to tear his gaze away.

“I love you, too,” Harry murmurs back and it’s like Louis has waited all his life to hear those words uttered in that low tone.

Louis surges forward again, capturing his lips with his own. They kiss slowly and Louis slowly speeds up the kiss until their tongues are sliding together and he’s pulling Harry closer and shimmying towards the edge of the counter top so that their bodies are pressed together. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, surprising himself with a small throaty whimper.

Harry’s hands are on his thighs, spanning over them and Louis pulls away from the kiss. He looks at Harry, breathing a little laboured as he blinks, forcing himself not to blush. He peppers kisses onto his lips, soft and short kisses. He tries to convey how sorry he is through his lips, not having enough words to say it.

“Bedroom?” he asks, looking up at him.

Harry freezes for a second, looking a little shocked. 

“It won’t be anything big,” he whispers. “What are you comfortable with?”

“Not sex,” Harry murmurs. “It wouldn’t b-be my first time but… yeah.”

“I understand, love.”

Louis pushes him back gently, hopping off the counter so that they were chest-to-chest, Louis having to look up to see Harry’s face. He presses another tender kiss to his lips before opening the door. The hallway is much different than the steam-filled bathroom and Louis immediately feels bad for Harry, who’s shirtless. He crosses the hallway into his bedroom and tells Harry to wait while he finds his lamp. He turns it on, bathing his room in light which is kind of a sweet and sour thing.

His room is an absolute mess. There are clothes strewn around the room, a few empty water bottles sitting by his bed. There are books littered across the floor, programs from plays he’s been to and bus tickets all surrounding his trash bin. There’s even an empty cereal bowl sitting on his desk, a layer of congealed milk in the bottom and the spoon probably glued to it. Louis flushes immediately, and not because he’s half-hard.

“Shit, uh… I wasn’t expecting company,” he mumbles, wondering if Harry will be able to get from the door to the bed without tripping or breaking anything.

“I’m with you so it doesn’t really matter,” Harry says, finding empty spots in which he can place his feet and cross the treacherous river of Louis’s poor cleaning habits.

Louis waits by the edge of the bed, nearly itching with anticipation for whatever’s about to happen. Harry joins him and is suddenly pushed back onto the bed, Louis falling on top of him and they both erupt in laughs. Once they realize how close their faces are, their laughter subsides and their lips meet again.

The kiss immediately goes from tentative and gentle to heated and deep in a second. Soon Louis is biting down on Harry’s lip, eliciting a low little moan that spurs Louis on. He reaches down, his hand cupping around his crotch and palming him. Harry pulls away from the kiss, eyes shutting tight in pleasure as he grows hard against his hand. 

Louis’s fingers play around the elastic waistband of his pants, the tips slipping just under it. He looks up at him for some kind of plea to stop but gets none. Instead he gets a slight nod from Harry, his half-dry curls bouncing. Louis pushes his hand into the sweats, eyes glued to Harry as his fingers brush through the wiry, small hairs before finding his cock.

When his hand closes around it, Harry gasps and curls forward a little bit, mouth falling open. Louis pushes him back, pulling his hand away and licking a broad stripe across his palm before reaching down and grabbing him again, his strokes easy and slow. Harry continues pressing kisses against Louis’s neck, making low noises in the back of his throat. 

Harry regains some control over himself, able to push the palm of his hand into Louis’s bulge as he moans through clenched teeth. Louis’s spare hand reaches down, cupping Harry’s balls and press them into the base of his cock as his hand tightens and he speeds up his strokes. Harry makes this little whimper in the back of his throat that’s so hot and Louis feels his cock aching under his jeans. 

“Come on, baby,” Louis whispers. “Let it go.”

Harry’s fingers are clawing at his hips as he comes, making little pink scratches in the skin. His head tips forward, leaning against Louis’s shoulder while his breathing comes in short shallow gasps and Louis works him through it.

“Yeah, that’s it, love… So gorgeous,” Louis murmurs, kissing Harry’s cheek. He releases his cock and Harry’s hand immediately gets to work, pushing Louis’s pants down to his mid-thigh and smearing the come splattered across his stomach onto his hand. 

Louis shuts his eyes, groaning out a ‘Fuck’ when Harry takes him into his hand and when he begins to stroke, Louis’s teeth dig into his lower lip. 

Harry strokes him and the angle is a little awkward, making his arm cramp up a little. But he doesn’t stop and Louis is thankful as he begins snapping his hips, fucking it in tiny little thrusts and Harry nearly doesn’t have to stroke him anymore. Louis is acutely aware of Harry watching him, watching the tiny little swears escape from his lips, and watching the way his face starts to crumple as he begins to orgasm.

Louis nearly sobs against his mouth as he comes, a strangled little cry spilling out of his mouth and his semen spilling over onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment after when Louis slumps against him and neither of them care that the sheets they’re probably sleeping on are stained and neither of them cares about how sticky their stomachs and hands are.

But soon they do grow uncomfortable and Louis grabs tissues and a warm, wet washcloth. They wipe off their stomachs and wash their hands and Louis dabs at the come on the sheets before changing into just a pair of sweatpants. He lies down next to Harry, putting his head on his chest and wrapping his arms around him.

“I love you,” Harry whispers, thumbing down the curve of his spine. 

“I love you, too,” Louis murmurs back, pressing a kiss to one of the swallows on his chest. 

“When… when did you… fall in love with me?” Harry’s voice is similar to their first date, the same amount of nervousness in it as then. 

“You remember that night we went out for drinks?”

“Uh-huh…”

“And remember how I got a little drunk and so you drove me to yours and insisted I stay the night?”

“Of course.”

“The morning after that when I woke up… I went downstairs and I saw you shirtless while sober for the first time. And you were singing too and I thought for a second that you’d failed to mention some popstar roommate of yours and that was him. And I poked my head in and it was you singing while you made breakfast for me. You’d left water and tea and sugar and milk out for me and even put the Advil out… Later when I was leaving, it was so hard _not_ to say it.”

Harry smiles, pecking his lips quickly. 

“When did you fall in love with me?” Louis asks, cuddling into his chest and yawning.

“Our first date,” he says with a chuckle.

“That early?”

He nods. “It was when you were talking about being a Christmas miracle. You… your eyes were so bright as you told the story and you were so enthusiastic about it and you just… You shone, Louis. And you looked so gorgeous.”

Louis’s face burns. “You’re such a gentleman.”

Harry kisses his head. “Get some rest, love.”

“Why… uh… Why did you forgive me? Like, if I were you, I’d be absolutely livid. I’d get a job somewhere else and I’d just be so humiliated and.. why?”

“Because it started out as a joke but it became real. You got feelings for me and knowing that the man of my dreams returned my feelings? That was too much to pass up.”

“You’re too kind. Really.”

Harry kisses his cheek, seemingly unable to stop pressing his lips against Louis’s skin. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too.”

“Sleep tight.”

Louis falls asleep in his arms, the both of them curled under the covers. He never thought that Niall and Zayn’s dare would turn into something that felt so right and so good.


End file.
